Kissing You
by acetamide
Summary: The seduction, when it comes, is both slow and fast at the same time. M/A. Inspired by Romeo Juliet
1. Kissing You

When it finally comes, the seduction is both slow and fast at the same time.

It begins with Arthur calling for Merlin just hours after he's first dismissed him – no, it begins a few months prior, when the Prince watched his servant willingly drink from a cup that he knew to be poisoned, to save him. For him.

It progresses as all things do in nature, but Merlin doesn't acknowledge it even though he's well aware of it. He pushes it away into the corner of his mind, along with half-formed apologies and stuttering explanations and pretends to forget all about it until he's called for and even then, he's not sure what it means.

When Merlin knocks on Arthur's door he receives no answer so pauses and waits three heartbeats before pushing the door open and steps inside, and in the night's balmy air Arthur is dressed in the same tunic and trousers as before and he's standing right in the middle of the room, gazing out of the window, hands slack at his sides.

He looks around as he hears Merlin enter and his servant shuts the door without being told because by now he knows Arthur, knows when he's in a sort of private mood or wants to discuss something. So he waits for him, waits to find out what he's been sent for but Arthur says nothing and just continues to stare at him as though he's only really just seeing him.

Merlin's about to ask if he wanted him here to ask him something or just to stare when Arthur finally turns and takes a step forward then hesitates, his mind working as he glances down briefly and then something inside resolves itself and his feet bring him completely across the room to him where he stops, inches away.

And then he stares again, blue eyes flicking back and forth all over Merlin's face and there's no sound at all but their breathing, out of time and slightly too fast because that little corner of his mind that he's kept at bay is creeping back into his consciousness and he's not sure what to make of it.

Arthur's hand isn't quite as steady as his eyes when he raises it to the warlock's face and his fingers reach out and touch his neck, thumb pressing gently against his jaw and then slipping down to rub over his collarbone and still Merlin says nothing, scared of what might come tumbling from his lips, so he just looks down as Arthur's knuckles brush his cheek. But Arthur's hand is strong on his chin and forces his face up, gazes locking blue on blue and Merlin really _looks_ at the Prince for the first time in a long while.

And then with even realising it, his own hands are moving up as though of their own volition, one resting on Arthur's shoulder and the other curving around the base of his neck, fingers brushing his hair and he can feel Arthur's eyes on him even as he stares at the other man's throat, and the silence between them is heavy and the air thick. When Arthur moves forward just that little bit, eyes flicking downward, copying him seems the logical thing to do so there's no surprise when their lips touch, fleeting and brief and then apart.

They're still breathing at odds to each other when Arthur's other hand finally comes up and pushes itself into Merlin's hair and pushes together their heads but not their lips, foreheads pressed skin to skin and Merlin could swear that Arthur's trying to inhale him or something because his eyes are squeezed shut and he's breathing deeply. His arm drops down to wrap around the warlock's back and he pulls him in, pushing his face into his shoulder. Merlin's not entirely sure what's going on but the corner in his mind that's quickly gaining ground is perfectly at ease with this so he goes with it, moves his own arms to grip the Prince's tunic and waits, waits.

And Arthur does eventually pull back, slowly, and then comes one of those rare genuine smiles that he seems so reluctant to share but it's quickly gone, because he's kissing Merlin again and there's now no doubt in his mind what's been hiding for this long time. His hands are clenching and unclenching all over Arthur's back and he's out of control now, and Arthur's hands are burning on him.

He knows what happens now – the dragon's been telling him all along.

He breaks the contact and waits for Arthur to make the next move.


	2. Balcony Scene

He breaks the contact and waits for Arthur to make the next move.

Arthur takes a deep breath and tilts his head slightly and still Merlin waits, to see what comes next, but the other man isn't moving. And then he realises that whilst he's waiting for Arthur, Arthur is waiting for him, because the next move was all his and he knew it would set the standard for the rest of their lives, however long and entwined they might end up being.

So Merlin pushes forward and kisses him, a teasing press of lips and then he reaches up and takes Arthur's face in his hands, and he knows his hands are trembling but it doesn't matter, because so are Arthur's lips and that's fine. He takes the time to look, to _really_ look at Arthur – the way his left eye is slightly wonky, the small scar just under his bottom lip, the few freckles scattered over his cheekbones. Imperfections, yes, but they're a part of him and so by extension a part of Merlin too.

Arthur surges forward out of his grip and his hands fall to the Prince's shoulders as he pushes against him, mouth hot and open on his and this is different, but this is Arthur, so different is fine.

He knows that they're moving, feels his feet shifting along the floor even as Arthur's tongue presses against his, but it's gentle. They're moving slowly as though through water and besides, Arthur's hand is on his back and on his neck and guiding him; he knows that they've ended up outside because there's a sudden breeze, not cold at all but quite pleasant, and some part of his mind registers that he's never been on Arthur's balcony before as he twists his fingers in the blond hair.

Arthur's fingers slip under his shirt, brushing the sensitive skin just between his hip and his stomach and Merlin jerks away instinctively, then immediately pushes back into the touch, warm and welcome and comfortably unfamiliar. Arthur's hand catches, drawing the cloth up towards his chest and Merlin doesn't think, just helps it along, aware that he'll probably get cold if he's going to start taking his clothes off outside, but as the shirt is thrown to the side he realises it doesn't matter because Arthur's pressing up against him, and he's warm enough for both of them.

Merlin's hands still aren't steady as he moves, taking the hem of Arthur's tunic and the material is soft in his hands, as soft as the Prince's skin and hair, as he pulls it over and off and discards it and now they're equal again, skin bare and glowing in the gentle torchlight reaching them from the Prince's chambers.

Arthur seems to hesitate, but Merlin realises that he's not – he's just looking again, gazing at the warlock with something lurking in his eyes that Merlin doesn't recognise and can't defend himself against. But then Arthur's pulling Merlin against himself, hips and knees and shoulders and collarbones bumping as he wraps his arms fully around him, lips pressing briefly to Merlin's bare shoulder and the moon eases out from behind a cloud.

Merlin can hear an owl hooting as Arthur's hands trace indistinguishable patterns on his back and he pulls back slightly, a warm breeze brushing his cheeks, and he thinks he can see the stars twinkling and reflected in the other man's eyes (or maybe they're just _in_ his eyes), and kisses him softly before leaning forward again to rest his chin on the other man's shoulder.

Cheek to cheek and skin to skin, Merlin can feel Arthur's breath grazing his neck as he squeezes shut his eyes, concentrating on breathing in, out, in, out, and not forgetting to stop. This time, their chests are pressed together and this time they're moving together, which is how it's meant to be _but not with Arthur; _they've always been at odds and this should be no exception.

And then Arthur's hands are moving again, his whole body's moving and Merlin realises that he's toppling over a bit too late – but he's not falling at all, and even if he is, he's not falling alone, Arthur is falling with him. And when he hits the floor it's not hard, not like he expected, but a part of him is expecting it when he feels Arthur's hands slide between them. He knows what's coming next, and thinks that the dragon probably does too. Because he is falling – with him, and for him.

It's becoming clear to him that he's not paying enough attention because his trousers are around his knees and so are Arthur's and he hasn't noticed any of it, and then they're completely gone from both of them, and this should feel strange but it doesn't. It feels _right_.

He has no idea what he's doing but he knows that Arthur's in the same boat as his hands grip Merlin's hips for a second before twitching and releasing and pressing against his ribs, thumbs digging in just a bit too hard. He's looming above him and the moonlight is shining over his head like some sort of halo, and Merlin stretches his neck to kiss him again, hand reaching up to pull Arthur down and closer to the ground.

And then Arthur's hips are between his and his hands between them again, and Merlin's eyes roll slightly as his head lolls back and hits the floor with a painful thud. And in a heartbeat one of Arthur's hands is there, cradling his head and pressing his lips to the warlock's temple then his eyelid, cheekbone, corner of his mouth.

Arthur's other hand is warm and deft and gentle on him as he pushes Merlin's legs apart and he looks straight into the warlock's eyes with something startlingly tender as he presses into him, and then Merlin has to look away because it's both wrong and right at the same time. But he's moving with Arthur anyway, stone floor rough and cold on his back and the other man's skin warm and soft all over him, and he has enough of his wits left to take the Prince's face and hold it steady as he kisses him and it's clumsy, it's awkward – it's an unfortunate collision of teeth and lips and tongues but neither of them mind, and Arthur may be smiling. A clatter of pots travels up from the kitchens far below.

There's something clean and sharp about Arthur even in this state that Merlin can't even begin to describe – but for the first time, he's not controlled, and it's obvious because his left leg is trembling and his movements are erratic, an uneven rhythm that Merlin's trying to match and failing. So he stops trying and makes his own, pressing back as he thinks he hears his name on someone else's lips and then something just cracks.

His hands are splayed over Arthur's spine as his eyes roll back and he sees white and gold and black, and perhaps he passes out for a few seconds because he's aware of an immense feeling of contentment rolling through him, and then his right side chills slightly. He forces his eyes open and notes that Arthur has rolled off him and to his side, hand resting almost tentatively on Merlin's chest.

Merlin turns to the side and looks at Arthur, whose forehead is coated with a faint sheen and whose face is flushed, and whose shoulders are shaking. He pushes forward and kisses him, not entirely sure who he's reassuring.

There's a deep thrumming of magic in his bones now, strong and insistent and he knows that his eyes are glowing but he doesn't even try to stop it, because Arthur's not looking – the Prince's eyes are half-shut and they're staring somewhere beyond him, into the night sky. He thinks his whole body might be glowing. It doesn't bother him.

They are as silent as the night air around them, and Merlin is at peace.

He thinks Arthur probably is, too.


	3. Morning Breaks

When morning eventually breaks, it's gentle light drifting through the curtains and the faint song of the lark easing through the window. Merlin wakes slowly; he has a brief moment of confusion at finding himself in the large, soft bed, and then sees Arthur's bare back beside him and remembers everything. He sits up carefully, doing his best not to dislodge the heavy blankets from around the prince and failing.

Arthur rolls over and his eyes crack open, and he's sharp and clean and angular and just lies there, staring up at Merlin. The warlock gets the feeling that he's never going to see Arthur more open and complacent than in that moment, but he _still_doesn't know what's going on in the other boy's head – he probably never will, not completely, but he'd like to think that he's making some headway.

When he's beginning to think that Arthur's fallen asleep again – his eyes have drifted shut and his breathing has deepened – a warm hand reaches out and touches his hip, fingers rough and calloused, awkward. But they're gentle, too, so very gentle; and Merlin can't help but settle himself back down.

Arthur's hand is trapped under his hip now, and it must be painful for him, but he doesn't complain; he manoeuvres his arm right underneath the warlock and winding itself around his back, pulling Merlin's chest flush against the his side. Merlin's hand is resting on Arthur's stomach before he's actually thought of moving. It feels natural. It shouldn't.

Arthur's eyes are almost open again but he's still only half-awake, and he turns his head to the side and kisses the young warlock's forehead. Merlin tilts his head up, and there's really no need for explanations because Arthur seems to understand instinctively what he wants and presses their lips together, simple and affectionate and lingering.

Merlin pushes his cheek into Arthur's collar bone and it digs in a little bit, and he closes his eyes, and his mouth begins to curl upward.

Morning can wait for them.

**


	4. Slow Movement

Merlin knows how to keep a secret.

It turns out that Arthur does, too.

The secret is there in touches that last a little longer than they should, touches that fade away as soon as anyone else is present. It's there in a hundred and one valid reasons for Merlin to be in Arthur's chambers at night, every one of which Gaius believes. It's there in the tiny, crescent moon-shaped indentations on their bodies, hidden beneath layers of clothing. It's there in smiles that turn to sneers when a guard comes around the corner.

Merlin continues to see Gwen and maybe he's leading her on a bit – he does feel bad about it, the same way he feels bad about lying to Gaius so often – but he thinks that it will be worth it in the end. This is his destiny, after all, as the dragon has told him many times (though he'd not considered this interpretation before).

Arthur continues his bizarre dance around Morgana; he seems to have realised that it really was all just playful banter but now he's making an effort to push some tension into the mix too, keep her away from the truth. It's for her own safety, he says.

They change nothing about the way that they act around Uther. Arthur has always been careful around his father, and nothing will change that.

Merlin suspects that Gaius knows, but he doesn't mention it to his mentor – nor, indeed, to Arthur. He doesn't think that Gaius will say anything, even if he does know, unless he feels that someone is in danger.

But Merlin needs to share his secret with someone.

"I think I love him."

The Dragon doesn't reply, only smiles.


End file.
